


Memoirs of a Ghost

by TheWibblyWordbender



Series: Loomian Legacy Oneshots and Drabbles [4]
Category: Loomian Legacy (Roblox) - Fandom, Roblox (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Horror, Loomian Legacy (Roblox), Original Character(s), ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWibblyWordbender/pseuds/TheWibblyWordbender
Summary: They say that if you have a heart full of hope and a head full of dreams, it is best to stay away from Heiwa’s cemetery.(Loomian Legacy oneshot.)
Relationships: Past Ikazune & Ikazune’s Trainer, Past Revenine & Ikazune
Series: Loomian Legacy Oneshots and Drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147406
Kudos: 2





	Memoirs of a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> From the wiki, and an entrance to a wiki story competition.
> 
> I’m not sure whether this is horror or not — it’s not classic horror, it’s more of a creeping feeling of... wrong, I guess?

They say that if you have a heart full of dreams and a head full of hope, it is best to stay away from Heiwa’s cemetery.

Sanyu knows the legend. Every child in Heiwa does. She knows of the supposed grieving spirit, with its blue flames and empty eyes. But she’s also seen people visit their family’s ashes and pay their respects without being harmed at all, and the rhyme seems more of a scary bedtime story than anything rooted in truth.

It never occurs to her that there’s truth at the base of every tale.

She’s eleven when she first has a chance to visit the graveyard alone. Her family’s visiting the nearby Rally Ranch, meeting up with old friends, and she tells them to go without her. She’s seen it already, she says, and isn’t very fond of the people they’re going to meet. Besides, she knows the village. She’ll be fine.

They leave, and she considers going to the cemetery. She very nearly enters, too — she’s past the village gates and staring at the path that winds towards the graves when something stops her. A strange chill in the air, maybe, or perhaps a fluttering in her stomach; whatever it is, it whispers at her not to enter, and she decides that she can prove the rhyme wrong another time.

She runs back home that day. Her family knows nothing.

It’s four years later when she decides to try again.

She’s fifteen, this time, and life is going well. She’s getting better at baking every day, each sweet _anpan_ roll getting her closer to her dream of stardom, and she’s looking forward to her little sister challenging the Battle Theatre tomorrow. Spirit tales and dubious warnings from her gut can’t shake her. 

She sneaks out of bed, and heads towards the cemetery. 

The half-moon’s light falls across the path. The shadows dance to the torches lighting the way, leaping up with every flicker. The many Ventacean of the Moeru Lakes slumber, silent — and if there’s any hint of something being not quite right, Sanyu ignores it.

If there’s any hint of the silence being too heavy, of even the nocturnal Loomians hiding and abandoning their territories, she ignores it.

She’d ignore the howls ringing from the graveyard, too, if they weren’t too low to hear.

She reaches the gates, and there’s a net of brambles and thorns woven across the entrance and barring her way. But Sanyu’s a great climber, having scaled the cherry blossom trees since she was five years old, so she hooks her feet around the spikes and her hands around the thickest flower stems, and pushes herself over. 

(It doesn’t occur to her to ask why the gates have been left in such a state. Her mind is running on adrenaline only.)

She walks around the graveyard once, twice. She stays away from people’s buried urns and ashes — the rhyme was probably created to ward children away from disturbing them in the first place, and she’s in no mood to disrespect the dead. The night air is cool and without flavour, only smelling vaguely like cinders when she gets near one of the Whispup that are enjoying the peace with her.

Enjoying, or maybe disturbing, because they’re rushing around and trying to push her away. Like everything else, she ignores them.

She can’t ignore the ghostly force behind her when she finally tries to leave.

She feels the chill, first. It’s the same feeling that spoke to her when she first attempted to brave the graveyard, except this time it’s so much more than a slightly cold gust of wind. Sanyu can almost imagine it taking solid form, it reaching out frigid fingers and gripping her neck, and she gasps as the ice seeps into her body.

She tries to calm herself, to stop struggling towards the exit, because in all the tales she’s read, that makes it worse. The grip gets weaker as she stills her thoughts.

And tighter again when the urge to run rises.

The Whispup around her yelp in fear, but their barks are soon drowned out by something… else. Something primal. A cry, coming from nowhere and everywhere, from below and beyond the world at once, and touching something deeper still. It has no words, but carries a message as clear as any other.

_Don't leave me, Ikazune._

She feels it rather than hears it, and it would’ve filled her heart with sorrow if she hadn’t already been consumed by fear, instead. Because she’s frozen, stiff and shaking at the same time, and can do nothing except breathe as the ghostly grip reaches around her and _pulls_ and turns her around.

And then she can do nothing at all.

Memories of her walk to the graveyard hit her, and she’s not ignoring the warning signs anymore. There’s a beast of Heiwa after all — and its flames are the only thing she sees.

It howls again, laughing-crying. _Ikazune, I thought you’d never, never, never never— you took her away, lost in the soul-fire-salt-stream. Lost, lost and you’ll be, too._

Her vision is darkening, and it levels its head with her and stares. And maybe the legend is wrong, after all. Because they said the beast had empty eyes.

Sanyu knows now that they’re alive with madness.

They’re the last thing she knows before the world goes dark.

(A darkness which is alive, too, and reaching for her soul. It’s filled with shame and sorrow, with all the days that came and could have come if somebody, somewhere, had chosen something else — and like the cry, it’s something she feels with her heart, not her senses. It’s almost human as it weeps.)

(It would’ve been easier if it wasn’t. It’s easier to face something otherworldly than to face something that was once so familiar, and is now shattered into foreign fragments.)

The cold, burning soul is inside her now, and it reaches for her own. Little flames snap like teeth as they burn away her essence and fill it with ashes and echoes of life. But she can’t even focus on the last moments of her life — on her sister, challenging the Battle Theatre tomorrow, and of her parents who she’s never going to see again — because she’s too overwhelmed by the memories of somebody else’s.

Whispers, first. A stream of thoughts…

_—We were happy, happy, fire and sparks before your life stole her and itself away away and gone and gone and gone forever—_

_—Rock and flame made us both and the rock was lost again like you but you weren’t supposed to leave and lose and look and look what happened here now—_

_—You, what you did and do and will and still will do and steal and it’ll be_ **_paid for—_ **

…which swell into a flood of visions.

_Visions of chambers of stone and rivers of magma. Of laughing and playing, happy, with someone else, and having no care in the world but love. Of thinking it would last forever._

_Of a man. A samurai, full of passion and impossible dreams, dividing a bond and a heart in two with his charisma. Of an ancient Loomian left behind, feeling so betrayed and so terribly, terribly alone without her other half._

_Of spending days in cemeteries, because at least the ever-present phantoms could seem real that way. Of seeing that man and her twin and their absence everywhere._

_Of losing a drive, a purpose, and a very core to the ghosts._

_Of a message, one day, that the samurai had died in battle and left the other half of that Loomian’s heart broken. Of that half losing its innocence forever — and, as such, all the innocence that remained in its twin._

_Of taking vengeance out on whoever resembled him. On drawing them all into the Loomian’s own grief, its own realm._

_Of crying for her sister, for Ikazune, whenever the wind howled and wherever the stars shone._

_The half-truth is close enough: “Revenine and Ikazune were the same Loomian, once.”_

_Once._

A flood of visions not of a death, per se, but of the end of a life nonetheless.

But Sanyu has no room for terror or grief anymore. That part of her is gone, leaving only a space as hollow as the blue-flamed monster’s grief. It’s taken another soul for its own.

And the darkness is empty, this time.

* * *

(She’ll only be able to rush around and yelp, trapped inside a whisper of what she once was, as more venture to the graveyard in the days to come and lose their humanity to a shell.)

**Author's Note:**

> "Sanyu" is a Japanese name meaning "happiness" (paralleling the hopes and dreams she has which prompt Revenine to... well, devour her soul).
> 
> Anpan rolls are baked Japanese sweet bread rolls, which I would include a picture of but I can’t.
> 
> And Moeru (as in the Moeru Lakes) means 'burn', which I chose because the lakes are above a volcano and are filled with Ventacean who love hot geysers.
> 
> Also, most Japanese people cremate their dead, I think, but I had to fit it into the graveyard somehow.
> 
> Heiwa village is Japanese themed, so I decided to incorporate some elements of that into the story.


End file.
